Page 73 of Dagger

The screen blinked black.

Brawler stood slowly, chest full of something he couldn’t name. He didn’t look at Dagger. Didn’t speak.

But he knew what that kid had just said. What they’d all known for a while now. Dagger didn’t just love her. He alreadywashers. God help her if she didn’t figure that out before it was too damn late.

When she finally pulled back fromDagger’s arms, the ache in her chest didn’t ease, but it settled into something steadier. Something real.

Emma stepped forward, a half-smile curving her mouth. “I’m Emma. CIA.”

Quinn dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, voice catching slightly. “I figured.”

The moment still clung to her skin, heavy, humbling. That simple video call had cracked something open in her, laid bare what she'd been trying to outrun. Those boys were her heart, but this team, those men, they’d helped carry it when she couldn’t. Dagger had made sure of that. Maybe letting go of her grief didn’t mean letting go of the possibility of love. She swallowed hard. She looked at Dagger.Maybe you’re already there?

Emma’s expression softened. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she added, glancing toward Dagger before meeting Quinn’s eyes again. “That shouldn’t have happened. You’re in very good hands.”

Quinn nodded, the lump in her throat thick. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I can see that.”

Before she could say more, Tex’s voice rang from the doorway, sharp and clipped.

“You’re with me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Time to move.

They stepped out into the searing Venezuelan sun, and Quinn froze for a heartbeat.

The SEALs were fully geared now, tactical armor, weapons loaded, vests snug across broad chests. They moved likewolves, quiet, deadly, controlled. Human predators molded by discipline and forged in fire. Every step they took was deliberate, precise. The air around them hummed with danger and protection.

But it was Dagger who stole her breath.

He stood beside the lead vehicle, adjusting the straps of his vest, dog tags glinting against his black shirt. His fatigue pants clung to powerful legs, molded to every muscle she knew too well and still longed to memorize again. His shoulders were broad, arms solid and veined, the whole of him carved from something elemental, stone, fire, shadow.

He wasn’t just commanding. He wasunchangeable.

She couldn’t stop staring.

She’d always known why they called him Dagger, sharp, controlled, forged for precision but seeing him now, fully geared, she’d had no idea. None at all.

He didn’t just carry the name.

Hewasthe name.

Lethal when necessary, honed to a fine edge, unwavering in his purpose. There was nothing careless about him, no wasted motion, no unnecessary noise. Just steel discipline wrapped in heat and silence.

A weapon with a heartbeat.

God help her, she’d never seen anything so devastatingly beautiful.

The tactical vest hugged his chest like armor built just for him. A long combat knife was sheathed there, a sidearm strapped to his thigh. An automatic rifle rested easily in one hand like it weighed nothing.

Beneath all of it, that same calm strength radiated from him, lethal, focused, unshakable.

There was something about the way warriors moved. Something visceral. Primeval. Six feet of quiet authority andcoiled violence wrapped in a body that moved like smoke and steel.

When Dagger turned slightly, scanning the area like he could see threat through concrete and shadow, Quinn had to swallow hard against the knot rising in her throat.

He was beautiful in that way danger could be, breathtaking, brutal, unrelenting.

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